TEMPTATION.
"Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God: for God cannot
be tempted with evil, neither tempteth He any man: but every man is
tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed."—JAS. i.
13, 14.
"MOTHER, I do so wish I could find out any way to keep the wet from
coming into your bedroom as it does."
"It would be a good thing, George. Your father spoke to the landlord
about it some weeks back; but he doesn't seem inclined to do anything
about it. What is wanting is a good coat of paint on the outer wall;
but paint costs money, and we have none to spare just now."
Mrs. Horbrook was not strong. She had a bad cough; and George knew
that Dr. Bertram had told her to avoid anything like damp as much as
possible.
"But if I got the paint from Mr. Day, mother, I know he would let me
have it at cost price, and I could put it on myself."
"We must not think of it yet, George. I haven't a penny to spare this
week; it will be as much as I shall do to have the rent money ready on
Monday."'
"Mother, I wish you hadn't thought of my going to the night school—that
will cost sixpence a week."
"But it is sixpence well spent, George. I'd rather do without my tea
than that you shouldn't go to the night school. Your father and I both
feel that we have taken you from school sooner than we should have
liked to do had things been different, and the night school will give
you a chance of still learning something. Let's see, to-night is the
first lesson, is it not?"
"Yes, mother; and haven't I heard enough about it from Larkins and the
other boys? Mr. Day wanted them to join, but they wouldn't and I am the
only one of his young hands who has done so. Matthew Hale says I have
done right, and that knowledge is always useful, and Mr. Day will take
a class himself."
"I am glad you are with so good a master, and so long as you give him
satisfaction, you can afford not to mind what any one else says."
Somewhat of a discontented spirit came over George as he went to work
that morning. Why were they so poor that, they could not even afford
a little paint, which might be the means of keeping his mother in
health? And Mr. Day had such quantities of paint, too. He had seen it
the previous day all put ready in one of the rooms of the new houses,
ready for the painters to begin work the following morning. And just
a little, a very little of all that quantity would do all he wanted,
would keep out the wet from his mother's room.
How watchful we ought to be over our thoughts! Our blessed Saviour,
when speaking to His disciples about the sins of a man's heart, places
at the head of the black list "evil thoughts." Let us never forget
this; thoughts are the parents of words and deeds. And an evil deed
would never be done unless an evil thought had first of all sprung up
and been cherished in the heart. Let us pray for grace to keep our
thoughts in order.
George did not check the growing feeling of discontent in his heart,
and from coveting some of his master's paint, the thought came into
his mind, "He would never miss a little, and I could easily take some
whilst the men are at dinner."
It was Satan who thus tried to tempt George when he found him giving
way in the first instance. The next moment, however, George shuddered
at the thought of his heart, and asked God for His grace to withstand
the temptation. But it is most true that no one can ever give
encouragement to a bad feeling of any kind without suffering from it
more or less.
George had, by God's grace helping him, put away the dishonest thought,
but his face did not wear its usually bright and cheerful expression,
and he had loitered somewhat on the road, so that he was a little late
at his work. Matthew Hale was not there, having met with a slight
accident the previous day, and George found himself placed to wait
upon another of the workmen, who was a man of violent temper, and who
accosted George in no very friendly manner.
"Come, come, youngster, I've been waiting for you ever so long. You
won't find such tricks answer with me, I can tell you. Now look sharp,
or I'll find a way to make you!"
At any other time, George would have held his tongue—the most prudent
thing he could do,—but he was out of sorts this morning. He gave an
angry reply, upon which the man threatened to box his ears for him if
he said another word.
George went about his work in a sullen mood, and nothing seemed to go
well with him that morning. During the dinner-hour each of the boys
took it in turn to stay in the room where all the men's tools, etc.,
were kept. It was Larkins's turn that day, but somehow at twelve
o'clock he was not to be found, and George took his place. All the
paint happened to be in the room, and as he sat in a corner eating his
dinner, he had time to think calmly over all that had passed that day.
He felt ashamed of himself. He had been angry and impertinent, and,
worse than all, had coveted what did not belong to him.
When he had eaten his dinner, he lay down behind a large heap of wood
shavings. There was a carpenter's bench in the room, and he made many
resolves to do better for the future. As he lay concealed by the
shavings, he heard some one coming up the stairs. He was in no mood for
talking, and lay quite still, supposing it to be one of the workmen
returning somewhat early to fetch his tools. Whoever the person was, he
crept about so quietly that George's curiosity was excited, and raising
himself quietly on his elbow, he peeped through a gap in the shavings,
and saw, not one of the men as he had expected, but Larkins creeping
stealthily towards that part of the room where the paint was placed. He
had an old paint-pot in his hand, and he looked round him from time to
time, as if he fancied he was being watched.
It is very true, as a great poet says, that "conscience doth make
cowards of us all," and Larkins's conscience was anything but quiet at
that moment. When George saw who it was, and what he was about to do,
he held his breath with amazement and horror. Was Larkins really going
to steal the paint? And if so, what was it right for George to do?
His heart beat so violently that he could hear it thumping against
his waistcoat. For one moment he could think of nothing but gratitude
to God that he had been enabled to put away the temptation which had
assailed him. The next moment, and he was planning how he might best
stop Larkins before he committed the crime. He knew enough of Larkins
to feel sure that he would never forgive him if he thought George
guessed what he was about to do. There was not a moment to be lost,
for Larkins had reached the spot where the paint was. A sudden thought
seemed to strike George. He coughed slightly, and then yawned aloud, as
if awaking from a sleep.
Larkins started, and dropped the paint-pot in his fright. A moment
afterwards, he recovered himself, and asked in an angry tone who was
there.
"It's only me, Larkins," said George, yawning.
"And what do you do there, playing the spy?"
"I am no spy, Larkins. The foreman could not find you at twelve
o'clock, and I had to stay here in your place, that's all."
"And what made you hide yourself there, then?"
"Indeed I did not do it to hide. I felt tired and wanted to be quiet a
little, that's all."
Larkins stared George full in the face. "Are you sure you are telling
me the truth, and that you were not on the watch up in that corner
there?"
"What should I be watching for, Larkins?" said George.
"That's true," replied the boy, who had been thrown off his guard;
"there was nothing to watch for. As for me, I went down the town as
soon as the dinner-hour arrived to get this paint-pot for one of the
men, and I have only just come back."
Larkins was telling an untruth, and George knew it was one, but he
said nothing more on the subject, rejoicing that Larkins had been
interrupted, and hoping that he might not make the attempt again, but
be led, as he had been, to resist the temptation. But there was a great
difference between George and Larkins.
God's Holy Spirit had striven with George's evil heart and had enabled
him to conquer. But God in His Holy Bible has expressly said, "My
Spirit shall not always strive with man," and there comes a time when
God withdraws His Holy Spirit, and leaves a man's heart to sin and
Satan.
Larkins had thrown away all the means of doing well. He had neglected
all good advice, had left off going to God's house, never went to the
Sunday school, never read his Bible; and now God had "left him to
himself." We all know how wicked our hearts are by nature. What then
must be the state of him whom God leaves to himself?
George went to work again in a better spirit. His quiet hour had done
him good; and although Beavis, the man upon whom he had to wait, was
more exacting than ever, and never spoke to George but in an angry
tone, still the boy kept from answering him, and so avoided a quarrel.
Shortly before they left off work, George had filled his hod with
mortar, and was hastening to a fresh part of the building, where Beavis
had commenced a party wall on the top story, when he saw the ladder
upon which Beavis had just mounted tremble violently. It had been
insecurely placed, and in another moment, Beavis might have fallen to
the ground. George threw down his hod of mortar, rushed to the spot,
and held the ladder firmly at the base till further help came. Amongst
those who came running was Larkins.
"I didn't know Beavis was such a friend of yours," he said to George,
"that you should run to help him as you did."
"The Bible teaches me to return good for evil, Larkins," said George,
very quietly.
Beavis said nothing to George about what he had done for him, but
George fancied he was less impatient than he had been during the former
part of the day. The other men praised George loudly for his presence
of mind.
"Some boys," they said, "would have stood staring at the ladder till it
fell, but George had acted at once."
Mr. Day came to the works before the men were dismissed, and George
almost thought the foreman must have said something about it to him,
for the master was kinder than usual to George, and told him he should
expect to see him at the night school that evening.
"I wish more of the boys of the neighbourhood were going to join,"
he said; "but perhaps when once a beginning is made, it will tempt
others to do so. By-the-bye, George," he added, "I passed by your
mother's cottage to-day. It seems in a very bad state, the outer wall
particularly,—at least one part of it. Does not the wet come in?"
"It does indeed, sir. Mother's bedroom is very, very damp, and it makes
her cough much worse. And Dr. Bertram says she is very delicate. Father
asked the landlord to do something to it, but he says he can't afford
it, and that if we like to leave, we are quite welcome to do so, as he
could get plenty more offers for the cottage directly. There are so few
houses here for poor people, sir."
"Mrs. Clay, of Newchurch, is about to build some new cottages, George.
Your father must try for one of them."
"But they won't be ready for a year, will they, sir? And I hear Mrs.
Clay don't want to let them to such large families, if she can help it."
"Meanwhile, George, a little paint would soon stop the wet from coming
in at that particular place, at all events. I wonder you, a handy boy,
haven't thought of that before. You could find time of an evening, or
by getting up an hour earlier in the morning."
"I've thought of it again and again, sir."
"Yes, but thinking of it won't do it, George."
"But I can't do any more than think about it, sir, for mother has no
money to spare for paint. You don't know how very poor we are, sir. And
mother has denied herself several little things so that I should be
able to attend the night school. Now poor father is away, we have hard
work to pay our way. Please don't think that I wouldn't do anything for
mother that I could, sir, only we have not the means to get any paint."
George's eyes filled with tears as he spoke, and Mr. Day took out his
handkerchief and blew his nose violently, as if he had a bad cold.
He said nothing more to George just then, but when all the men were
gone, and George was still busy putting away certain things ready
for the morrow, Mr. Day came to him and said, "I will give you a
little paint, George, to stop the damp from coming into your mother's
room. I believe you to be a good son, and so far you have given me
satisfaction. Come with me, and you shall have the paint at once."
Mr. Day was astonished at the boy's gratitude. "He could not have
seemed more grateful if I had given him a hundred times as much," he
said to himself.
He little knew all that was passing in George's mind—how grateful he
felt to God who had kept him from yielding to the dishonest thought of
the morning, and how humble and ashamed he felt at having for a moment
harboured such a thought.
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